


Games

by Glittermonkey (Schizanthus)



Category: Velvet Goldmine
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 21:08:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schizanthus/pseuds/Glittermonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Curt and Brian are killing some time before a show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Games

**Author's Note:**

> Posted to ff.net back in 4/13/2001.
> 
> Well, I was working on this serious fic, you see, but then the boys started getting frisky and wanted to do something fun before they'd agree to any more wallowing. So finally I relented, and this mind burp came into being. No betas, since this was dashed off spur of the moment, so read at your own risk.

LONDON CONCERT HALL -- DUSK -- 1973

The roadie in the black tour t-shirt paced up and down in the hallway outside of Brian Slade's dressing room, wringing his hands. He was trying to get up the nerve to knock on the door so he could deliver his message.

It was a simple message -- just tell the man that all the equipment was set up and they were ready for a sound check. The rest of the band were already on stage, fiddling with their instruments and waiting for their lead singer to make a token appearance. They knew better than to really expect him to arrive. The poor guy they'd sent on the errand, though, didn't know that.

He leaned close to the thin-walled door again, ear practically against the wooden surface. He'd seen the popstar sneak in there an hour earlier with his boyfriend in tow. Things always tended to take a long time when Curt Wild was involved. And from the sound of things, they were still quite busy in there.

So there he stood, the uncertain look in his face slowly giving way to one of pure distress, as his internal struggle continued over whether he dared to interrupt what clandestine activities were occurring within.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A muffled giggle, followed by some shuffling. The sound of a chair scuffing the ground as it was dragged across the room. Then, Brian's voice, in a tone that could only be labeled as coaxing, inviting...

"Your turn, Curt."

The sound of stacked boots crossing the room. "Hmmmmm." Amusement in the other voice, as it seemed to contemplate what it wanted to do next. "Okay, hand me that thing with the pointy top."

Silence. The sound of movement as an object was fetched, then more hesitation before it changed hands. Brian suddenly sounded a lot less forward. He cleared his throat. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

"Yeah, what's wrong with it?" Curt, apparently sounding more amused than anything else.

"Oh, nothing..." A beat of silence, then some more hesitation. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

A rumbling chuckle. "Gee, Bri... Are you scared of what I might do with it?" Curt was moving again, presumably in the direction of the occupied chair.

A nervous laugh. "No, not at all... I just don't like it when you get that predatory gleam in your..." His sentence was cut off in something between a strangled squeal and a gasp. "I can't believe you just put that there." A low moan.

"Are you questioning my methods? Want me to stop right now?"

A whimper. "No. Yes." More hesitating. "No. Whatever you want, baby. This one's yours. I'll just close my eyes and think of England... or something."

"You have to move first."

Sound of some shuffling, then a resigned sigh. "There. Satisfied?"

A chuckle sounding like the cat who swallowed the canary. "Aww... I thought you said you liked being played with..."

Another whimper.

"There, that should do it..."

"I can't bear to look. Just hurry up and finish, will you?"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The roadie blinked, then backed slowly away from the door, shaking his head. This was obviously not a good time to intrude. Maybe he could find somebody else to deliver the message. Where was the mousy little costume woman? She never seemed to mind doing these things...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Ha! Checkmate, man." Curt sat back with a remarkably smug grin.

Brian pouted, crossing his arms and glaring resentfully at the checkered board. "You lied to me. You said you'd never played chess before."

Another satisfied chortle. "I've never played poker, either."

A resigned sigh. "Well, we have another twenty minutes before the concert starts. Jerry wants us to stay 'busy' until the last possible moment, or the reporters might start questioning whether we're really an item. Lord only knows what he's telling them we're doing in here."

Brian raised an eyebrow. Curt responded with a speculative leer. They regarded eachother for a minute, then burst out in a fit of snickering.

"Okay, fine, then..."

Silence.

"So... up for a quick game of Scrabble?"

~finis~


End file.
